


Howlin' through Hell's Gates

by AnotherWorld3111



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adoption, Background Case, Brothers, Dean's really a big softie tho, Fluff, Gen, Gruffy Dean, Mental Health Issues, Sam Winchester is So Done, Somewhere post season 8?, but the stray is really a wolf, idk - Freeform, like a few, they kinda pick up a stray, they're in the bunker, unofficially though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 19:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21379000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWorld3111/pseuds/AnotherWorld3111
Summary: The Winchesters adopt a wolf. That's all. Really.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Howlin' through Hell's Gates

**Author's Note:**

> Im posting this while half asleep and half listening to my friend talking sooo if somethings weird just lmk and ill try to fix it when I'm more awake  
also, i wrote this in a notebook and then typed it in, so while there have been revisions made... basically this still ain't bete'ad. Welp

“If we never have to hunt a wendigo again, it’ll be too soon.” Dean muttered grumpily.

Following right beside him, albeit with a couple of feet between them, Sam couldn’t blame his brother. They were covered in mud from head to toe, and that was the least of their worries. It was a wonder they hadn’t actually been turned off by flesh enough to turn into vegetarians yet. Dean more so than Sam, because it wasn’t like Sam wasn’t already halfway there. At least, according to Dean.

Sam didn’t say anything, even though he knew he wouldn’t have to. He was just as tired and done with the day as his brother. The wendigo they’d been hunting for ended up being more than one, which meant it took more than double the amount of days to successfully hunt them all down. With the amount of fire they’d been having to toss around, the fact that the forest they were currently tramping through wasn’t ablaze had to be a personal victory for them both. But it wasn’t like it was going to be one they were actually going to celebrate anytime soon.

“Maybe we can just let Garth throw the next few wendigo cases to some other hunters.” Sam eventually suggested, several yards later. He grimaces as he had to peel his hand off the bark of a tree. He’d held onto it for balance as he stepped over a particularly large tree trunk lying across the ground, but the… flesh and other disgusting bodily parts they were unfortunately coated in under aforementioned mud was as good as glue. Forget any cases in general. Sam was going to drown himself in the bunker’s magnificently large bathtub filled with all the soaps he could find. He still wasn’t one hundred percent sure he wouldn’t need some sort of spell though, if he wanted to be truly clean anytime soon.

Yeah, scratch off nature runs for the foreseeable future too, on that note.

“That,” Dean vaguely waved at Sam. “Is the best idea I’ve heard coming from you yet.”

Sam frowned at Dean’s back, before quickly glancing back down again. The last thing he wanted to do was trip and fall, on top of everything else. He was already walking weird because he was sure there was something drying in the crotch area of his pants, but for everyone’s sake, he was trying hard not to think about it. Instead, he focused on his gait, because if he took an unintentional and entirely unwilling tumble in the leaves right now, Sam might just end up having to light himself on fire.

“Really?” Sam distractedly retorted. “Then what about when I’d–” he abruptly cut himself short, coming to a halt. Cocking his head to the side, he closed his eyes which his ears had to try and strain to listen.

When Sam failed to continue speaking, he knew Dean was turning around, most likely already with an eyebrow raised in question. He opened his eyes to see Dean taking a single glance at Sam’s alert stance before Dean was slowly shifting his own muscles as well, without making a sound. The blood and gore covered machete in Dean’s hand raised as he prepared for whatever else dared to come their way. And not a moment too soon, because Sam heard the sound again, something that sounded all too much like a–… whine? Before the shrubbery to his side started rustling.

And out came a wolf cub, finding itself face to face with the business end of Sam’s gun.

Sam blinked.

Dean stared.

The pup whined again, revealing itself to be the source of the noise, and lay itself pitifully on the ground.

In a second, Sam was clicking the safety back on, withdrawing his gun and firmly tucking it into the back of his waistband, careful not to make any sudden moves under the pup’s morose stare. Once the weapon was out of sight, but definitely making itself all too aware as it molded itself to the muck on Sam’s skin, the pup stood back up, watching Sam with wary eyes. Making soft, reassuring noises that Sam hoped came across as non threatening as it was supposed to be, he started to lower himself down until he was more on level with the small animal, all complaints previously running through his head about ickiness temporarily silenced.

“Uh, Sam?” Dean said, voice low. From the corner of his eye, Sam could see his brother staring at him bewilderedly, eyes flickering between him and the pup. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Shushing his brother, Sam barely even tossed Dean a proper glance before he was holding out a hand, palm up, to the wolf cub. Whining, the pup hesitantly drew closer, sniffing curiously. Dean miraculously stayed silent. Quite possibly too freaked out by the turn of events to risk his brother getting his hand bitten off, however much Sam might’ve had it coming.

In hindsight, Sam did wonder if sticking out a hand covered in bloody wendigo bits really was the brightest idea. But first, the pup didn’t latch onto his hand like a treat, and second, it even ducked under his hand, clearly seeking comfort. 

Sam’s eyebrows raised, even as he unconsciously started petting the animal before thoroughly registering his actions. Because now, even the little pup was starting to get dirty. It didn’t seem to deter the wolf cub from climbing onto Sam’s lap, though, knocking him back onto his heels.

Sam dared to cast a helpless glance at Dean, but was only met with an unimpressed glare in return as Dean crossed his arms. He internally sighed. He knew that technically, he should be wise with using his ultimate weapon. But Sam also knew that Dean had always been, and always will be a sucker, and that it never seemed like it was going to change any time soon.

Still. Sam decided to start with minimal power anyway, as he turned on the puppy eyes and flashed them at Dean.

A muscle in Dean’s jaw ticked.

What Sam hadn’t accounted for, however, was the possibility of Dean being subjected to the dual power of the puppy eyes. A low whine emanated from Sam’s lap, and Dean’s eyes were inexplicably drawn downwards. His eyebrows knitted together as he regarded the keening pup. Sam didn’t even risk chancing a glance of his own before dialing his puppy eyes up a notch, just as Dean looked back at him.

Silence permeated the forest. Sam held his breath, and even the pup was quiet, as if understanding the heaviness was all about to decide the pup’s future. Dean looked back and forth between his brother and the wolf cub, pinned under twin eyes merciless and unrelenting, before groaning aloud, throwing his hands up in clear frustration.

“That mutt is not getting into my car, Sam!”

oOo

Honestly, Sam couldn’t even hold a grudge against his brother for calling the wolf cub a mutt. Not when said wolf cub was eagerly exploring his new surroundings, starting with sniffing at the endless amounts of musty tomes in the Men of Letters Archives before its nose inevitably led it to the kitchen. Helpless to do anything otherwise, Sam dutifully followed, if at least to ensure the so far well-mannered pup didn’t disturb Dean’s pristine kitchen as much as to keep an eye on it. 

Dean, meanwhile, was still in the garage, giving Baby a deep clean. Last Sam heard from his brother, he was viciously muttering how Baby still smelled like dog, along with a few other, colorful choice of words. Sam wisely chose to keep his mouth shut and had brought the pup inside the bunker instead. Thankfully, the pup was happy to stay in place on Sam’s bed – surrounded by the least harmful, yet also most entertaining items Sam could find for a pup – while he stook a much needed ‘deep-cleaning’ session of his own. 

And now, the pup was happily eating away from a dish filled with bacon. Bits of it went flying everywhere, and Sam cringed even as he made a mental reminder to return the place to its formerly gleaming state before Dean returned. Hopefully, not until after a very long shower of his own.

Sam stared thoughtfully at the pup, brought out of his musings by the clang of the metal dish as the pup put a paw in it, tipping it over to get the last remnants of the bacon. Talking about cleaning… Sam really hoped he wouldn’t have to add the bathrooms to his list, because the pup was due for a bath of its own. Surely, the pup wouldn’t mind getting cleaned… right? From Sam’s brief yet memorable experience, the dogs in his life certainly didn’t seem to mind the occasional baths…

Yet, there admittedly was another thing that had to take precedence first.

“We really need to name you,” Sam said. The pup momentarily paused, peering at Sam with large eyes before returning to its meal, with an air of disinterest. “Can’t keep calling you pup. Or worse, mutt.” Sam went on, even though the pup was doing a very good job of ignoring Sam.

Sam huffed. “I see how it is. Give a wolf some food, and now you don’t care about the human that actually did the saving and serving part, hm?” He said rhetorically, but certainly not unkindly. Getting out of his chair, Sam sat down by the pup, the animal pausing again to eye Sam warily. Once Sam did nothing more than scritch behind the creature’s ears, making sure to still keep his movements slow, the pup went back to blissfully licking the dish sputless, tail wagging furiously.

“So, what should we call you then?” Sam mused. “I’d name you Bones, except. No.” For one, the pup didn’t even come close to resembling the golden retriever. Dark black with brown patches and golden eyes, the pup was very clearly wolf and couldn’t look any more different than the dog Sam briefly enjoyed sole ownership over.

Nevermind the fact that it was all such a distant memory and felt like a completely different life to Sam.

“‘Sides, you don’t really look a lot like a Bones,” Sam hummed thoughtfully as he looked the pup over. “Though, you’d look like you’d happily eat them.” He muttered to himself. Still scratching absently, Sam whipped out his phone with his free hand, tapping away in relative silence for a bit. “Hey, what about Archibald?” Sam joked, not looking up. He was really just aiming to break the silence, which was what he earned when the pup made a hacking noise. Sam’s head immediately whipped up in alarm, only to be met with a disdainful glare. “Alright, jeez. Not Archibald.” Sam said. He kept his narrowed gaze on the pup, but now lying with its head between her paws and looking peaceful with her eyes closed, Sam returned to his self-assigned research.

Time went by with only the sound of breathing, tapping against Sam’s phone, and the occasional moments of the pup scratching herself to fill the air. Sam wondered if the pup had already fallen asleep, but it was too late as he’d already started talking again. “How about Hreint? It’s Icelandic,” Sam tried. The pup just stared at him blankly, leaving Sam to internally flounder. Before he could try reasoning with her - and, yes, Sam was damn well going to talk to an intelligent creature capable of conversation and even argument,  _ clearly _ \- a voice interrupted his fumbling.

“What’s Icelandic?”

Sam’s head whipped around again. Yup, he was definitely going to pay for it later, but right now, he found Dean looking freshly showered, standing in the doorway to the kitchen as he tied his dead man’s robe tight around him. Sam briefly wondered how much time really passed while he’d been on his phone when he noticed Dean’s eyes narrowing dangerously as he took in the kitchen.

Looking around himself even though he already knew what he was going to find, Sam let go of the pup to raise his hand placatingly. “I swear I’ll clean it up.” He promised.

Dean glared at Sam as he strode in. Sam could definitely say that for a moment there, he was easily terrified for his (and the pup’s) life for a heart stopping second, only for Dean to walk past them and grab a mug from a cabinet, heading to the coffee machine all the while easily sidestepping the mess on the floor.

“Damn right you will,” Dean said. “So. What’s Icelandic?” he repeated, settling himself against the counter while he waited for the machine to spit out his coffee.

Sam glanced between his brother and the pup with some trepidation. The pup just continued to quietly stare at the brother’s interaction, looking too dozy to bother looking interested in their conversation.

“Hreint,” Sam relented. “It’s Icelandic. Thought it’d be a good name, you know?”

Dean raised his eyebrows, reenacting the stare that clearly conveyed how much geeky and nerdy Sam may be, his smarts only extended to books and left his younger brother an absolute idiot in regards to all other aspects of the world. “Okay, one,” he started. “We’re not keeping the stupid dog.” He said, going on before Sam could protest. “And B - you wanna name it after something that sounds like how a cat would when it pukes?” He exclaimed.

Sam wrinkled his nose at the description. “It means ‘pure,’ Dean, and besides, I thought it sounded cool.” He defended.

Dean snorted, turning around to fetch his now steaming mug filled to the brim with coffee. He didn’t take a sip of it just yet, though. “Well, you thought wrong, brother mine. You know what would be a really cool name?” He said, eyeing the wolf that was now unnervingly focused on him. Dean took a loud sip and went on again, right when Sam dared to risk a word in edgewise. “Valhalla.” He nodded to himself. “Now, that, is an awesome name. Valhalla!” He announced grandly.

To Sam’s complete and utter dismay, the pup immediately scrambled up to throw in her own two cents by letting out a loud bark. If her telltale eyes shining with excitement didn’t let them know what she thought of the name, then her outrageously fast tail wagging to the point of being a blur certainly did.

Although, Sam mused, looking at Dean watching the pup with what looked like approval on his face, maybe Valhalla wouldn’t be too terrible of a name.

oOo

Sam couldn’t say he was surprised to find himself delegated to cleaning up after Valhalla – and, yeah. The name had stuck, which Sam made sure to convey his displeasure to Dean about when the pup would stubbornly only react to the name. On the bright side, however, the name wasn’t the only thing to stick around.

Sure, the first week or so, anytime Dean was so much as reminded of their new, furry, bunkermate, he’d stare Sam down and hound him about shelters or the like. But when Sam walked in on Dean dozing off in the library two weeks after the wendigo case, Sam’s jaw clamped shut to hold back his loud wake up call of a reminder for Dean as to what he should be doing instead of sleeping. Rather, he quietly crept forward and took his phone out, making sure his sound effects were off.

A few of the pictures were noteworthy as it was. And despite the vague feeling of being threatened just looking at the pictures, the ones with Valhalla sleepily glaring at the camera from where she was curled up on Dean were still pretty cute. It was approximately after that, that Dean more or less gave up all pretenses of wanting to ditch the wolf.

oOo

For the most part, being a hunter but also an owner of a pet… of sorts… was disorienting. No matter that the pet in question was actually a wild animals that they hadn’t exactly domesticated, per se. Sam may have taken Valhalla with him during his morning runs – though after the first day, Sam knew she was really not running at her preferred pace recently. Not if Sam wanted to be able to keep up – and Dean may have otherwise completely spoiled her while attempting to be discreet – as if Sam wasn’t going to notice how much bacon they’d been buying lately. But the reality of their situation came to a jarring head all too soon.

“We’re not leaving her alone for an entire week, Dean!”

“Well we sure as hell ain’t taking her with us! It’s a hunt, not some sort of glorified visit to a pet salon, Sam!”

Currently facing each other in a position reminiscent of a stand-off at the War Room, neither brother looked willing to relent. Valhalla wasn’t being any help either, blithefully ignoring them in favor of the dog toy Dean bought but Was Not To Be Mentioned.

“And so, what, you just want to leave her alone in the bunker for that long, unattended? In a place where we haven’t even organized all the cursed items yet?” As if Sam would ever let anything harmful where Valhalla could get into, but that wasn’t the point. “A week, Dean! Besides, what’s the matter if she comes with us? Who knows – maybe having a canine will actually help on a witch hunt!”

“I’m not letting her in the damn car, Sam. End of discussion.” Ah. So that was the problem. Dean was already turning around, resolutely beginning to walk away, but Sam wasn’t gonna let his brother off the hook that easily.

“I’ll dog-proof the car for you,” Sam called out, halting Dean in his tracks. “Even deep clean Baby as many times as you want until you’re happy.” Sam added through gritted teeth. He was already regretting making the promise he was sure Dean would all too happily abuse later. But glancing at Valhalla, Sam sighed, shoulders slumping. “C’mon, Dean. Please?”

Dean turned around at that, and if Sam wasn’t already drained at the prospect of cleaning Baby in the coming month more times than he’s showered in his entire life, he’d be cheering. Dean tossed him a frustrated glance, already letting Sam know he’d managed to win his brother over, before glancing at Valhalla. His eyes ever so slightly softened, along with his stance, and Sam mentally beamed, the deal sealed.

“You’re getting the car ready in ten, or I’m leaving both your sorry asses behind.” Dean jabbed a finger in Sam’s direction, and having successfully had the last word, he exited the War Room unimpeded.

Sam mournfully watched his brother go, back already aching and demanding the rest he wasn’t going to get for a week at least.

A short yip had Sam drawn out of his thoughts, looking down to see Valhalla looking up at him, a rope covered in slobber at his feet. Sam grimaced, dragging a hand through his hair. “Right… why don’t we play later, huh?” He crouched down to start giving Valhalla a head rub. Her eyes closed, tail wagging happily as she let him pet her. He smiled to himself. “First, I gotta prep the car. I really wouldn’t put it past Dean to abandon us right now.”

oOo

A half hour and a bunch of plastic sheets later, the three were on the road, Dean currently not harping Sam under his breath in favor of listening to Sam’s – desperately found – latest additions to the case. It wasn’t much, but it did the job. Dean was ranting about witches instead, and Sam was counting it a win. Even though it really wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before.

“Seriously. I mean you sure bringing Valhalla was such a brilliant idea? These witches don’t exactly have the brightest records with cute, fluffy little animals!”

Sam was already rolling his eyes when he redirected himself. “You think Valhalla is cute and fluffy?” He repeated, eyebrows raised at Dean.

His brother fumbled for the briefest of seconds before shooting a sharp look at Sam and then glaring back at the road. Not without glancing at Valhalla as well through the rear-view mirror. “Shut up, Sam. Not the point.”

Sam sighed. “Look. I’m pretty sure she can take care of herself against a witch who just wants a ‘cute, fluffy little’  _ defenseless  _ animal for a spell. She is a wolf, after all–”

“Pup,” Dean muttered.

“ _ And _ she’s gonna be with us, so she’ll be fine.”

Dean raised his eyebrows in return. “Us?” He repeated. “Oh, no. Think again, wolf-boy. You wanted to bring her along with us – you’re taking care of her.”

Sam did roll his eyes this time. “Fine,” he acquiesced, if only to keep the peace. Pointing out how Valhalla liked to hang around the both of them equally – and that Dean definitely didn’t mind it (if he thought no one was watching) – didn’t exactly seem conducive for that.

oOo

They arrived in Wyoming late enough for them to book a motel room and just head straight for bed. The place didn’t look like it welcomed pets, but, as Dean oh-so-eloquently put it, “I’m not driving any longer just to find a Ritz to serve all species. Ain’t spending extra on the mutt either just ‘cause you wanted to bring her. Just sneak damn the pup in. What the manager doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Sam had gone along with it, if only because he was too tired to argue further on the point, but he’d already resigned himself to leaving out extra money for the maids before they checked out. He wasn’t sure if it was normal for Valhalla to be shedding as much hair as she was yet, but the fact remained that that was what Valhalla was doing anyway.

At least they didn’t have to argue about sleeping arrangements once Valhalla made it clear that she was perfectly fine with the couch.

oOo

Sam was just getting back from his morning run when Dean emerged from his shower. Steam wafted behind him through the open door as he cast a disdainful look at the two sweaty figures entering the room.

“Have fun giving her a bath. I’m getting breakfast ‘cause looks like some _ one _ forgot to,” was all he said.

Valhalla peered at Sam with wide eyes, the end of her leash that Sam’s dropped earlier still clamped between her jaws. Sam dragged a weary hand through his hair. Neither of them moved until the front door was slamming behind Dean’s clothed and retreating back. Sam broke first, letting out a small groand. “Man, I really hope you haven’t been spoiled by the bunker’s better water pressure, ‘cause you’re gonna have to get used to the motel’s sucky showers. And don’t tell Dean I said that,” he said. Valhalla dropped the leash in response, rolling onto her back and playing with the length of it.

Groaning again, louder though, Sam bent down before Valhalla strangled herself.

oOo

There was no way two federal agents could go around with a wolf pup on a leash and still look official. Dean was all too happy to point that out when he returned with food – for all three of them. So it was definitely with an indecent amount of smugness that Sam informed him that he’d already collected the information he needed.

“People are more willing to trust a guy who says he just moved into town if he’s jogging around with a puppy,” Sam shrugged, unwrapping his salad. Unsurprisingly, Valhalla was at Dean’s feet instead, eyeing his burger and even drooling.

“So, what, I’m visiting the morgue by myself then?”

Dean asked, but didn’t shift his untrusting gaze away from Valhalla.

“You’re the one who said we wouldn’t look official with a dog on a leash. So, by extension, you asked for it,” Sam replied cheerfully.

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. And then begrudgingly pinched off a bite of his burger and tossed it to Valhalla. It kept her occupied for all the two seconds it took her to gobble it down before she was staring at him again with wide eyes, obviously pleading for more.

“Fuck off!” Dean finally exclaimed. “You already had yours, this one’s mine!”

Sam shrugged again. “She’s a growing girl. You’re not gonna let her starve, are you?”

“ _ Fuck you _ .”

oOo

With the information Dean came back with from the morgue and victims’ families – because while a newcomer with a dog looked friendly enough to gossip with, Sam didn’t exactly get the chance to walk into a grieving person’s home – they’d hunkered down for some last minute research as the sun set. Come morning, they’d stake out the suspected perp’s hideout – a woman living in the suburban neighborhood covertly enough – before taking the witch out and returning home.

All in a day’s work. Except for one tiny, almost inconsequential detail Dean brought up.

“We are not taking Valhalla with us to gank a witch.” Dean stated flatly. Unfortunately, he did have a point. Sam still found it amusing when Dean looked surprised at the lack of argument.

“Fine,” Sam said, easily. When Dean’s face started to morph from skeptical to suspicious, he went on. “We’re not going to be long, right? Valhalla will be fine for a few hours or whatever.”

He should’ve known his words would come back to bite him.

oOo

“I hate witches!” Dean yelled, air-bourne, and then grunted as he collided with a wall.

Ears ringing, Sam got up, shaking. He was trying to keep an eye on the witch, except he kept having to blink when he saw three… no, two – wait, four?

The witch raised multiple hands, and Sam was on his knees again, gasping in pain. 

“Sammy!”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Barely legal, Victoria Thompson rolled her eyes, lifting her other hand. Dean joined Sam on the floor – only, his older brother started coughing up blood.

“Dean!” Sam groaned, wincing as his organs twisted within him. He completely forgot about watching out for petty teens – late teens. More importantly, an adult, but also still a teen – with irresponsible amounts of power when his eyes closed of their own volition. Clutching his torso, Sam fell on his side. At least, when he managed to open his eyes again, Dean was back in his line of view.

Victoria wasn’t, though, which was why Sam only saw his brother reacting, but missed the actual shadow hurtling at the blonde witch.

A high-pitched, agonized wail was torture to Sam’s ears atop everything else, but Sam didn’t miss the disappearance of his organs being squished and instead appearing settled back in their proper places. Breathing hard, Sam forced himself up, watery eyes immediately seeking out Victoria. He honestly didn’t know how to react when he saw Valhalla viciously chewing on Victoria’s leg, easily dodging her batting hands. Deciding to go with relief – throwing up required too much energy right now, and he needed to use it for something more important, like, ganking the damn witch before Valhalla started favoring human meat – Sam pushed himself to action, grabbing onto his discarded gun a few mere feet away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean already aiming, a second before he did the same.

Twin shots resounded through the otherwise empty house, one following the other in quick succession. Smoke wafted from the hole dead center in Victoria’s head, eyes wide and unseeing, before she fell. Her face was still a twisted mask of pain when she met the floor. Valhalla released the death grip on the now corpse’s leg with her jaw and hastily scampered away.

Dean slumped, hands falling limply to his sides, while Sam went a little further and let himself fall back onto his side. A curious Valhalla who’d been cautiously sniffing at Dean perked up at the sound of Sam meeting the floor. Sam could’ve sworn he could see the alarm and worry in her eyes as she immediately bounded over to him.

“Good job, girl,” Sam said, still a little breathless. He let his eyes close as he dragged his free hand through Valhalla’s fur, petting her while his other hand’s hold on his gun slowly went slack. “Good girl.”

Dean talking forced Sam to look at his brother, though he would’ve been totally fine to just lie there with his eyes closed for a little bit longer. Valhalla definitely deserved all the treats… probably of the vegetarian type… so his hand was the only thing Sam was willing to move until he could actually get up.

“She’d be fine on her own, huh?” Dean was saying dryly. He leaned back against the wall he’d been thrown against, drawing a knee up to rest his unarmed hand on. His other hand wiped away the blood at his mouth, leaving a faint red smear across his chin.

  
“Shut up,” Sam mumbled. “We probably would’ve bit the dust by now if she hadn’t saved our sorry asses.”

“Right,” Dean drawled. But then his voice softened so that it sounded a lot like he was agreeing when he said a simple, “Yeah…” 

For a while, they fell into silence, allowing themselves a minute or two to gather their wits before they had to deal with the cleanup – although was it really necessary? – and then hightailing it before the legitimate authorities arrived.

However, Dean broke the silence again. “Hey, didn’t you lock the room? How’d Valhalla get out – and know where to find us?” He was talking far too soon for Sam’s remaining brain cells’ liking, which he made sure to express by keeping his eyes stubbornly closed. He knew his brother would be able to translate his sign of pettiness well and clear.

And then Dean’s exact words registered, not a second after he’d uttered them.

oOo

The answer to the first part, they’d soon found out, was courtesy of an angry motel manager and a clawed-through door. It took way longer than necessary to appease the guy, even after they’d kindly let him know they were leaving anyway. And yes, would pay for the extra damages. Either way, when they drove out of that motel’s parking lot, it was significantly lighter wallets, a ban from the motel, and an angry Dean muttering about nosy managers who didn’t know how to mind their own businesses.

Sam didn’t even open his mouth about the last part, refraining from mentioning that an animal in a no–pet allowed motel was the manager;s business, because he may have managed to hold Dean back from breaking the manager’s nose, but only just. As it was, the guy was going to have a blinding headache and a dark bruise for days to come, at least.

Sam could’ve snorted. What the manager wouldn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, sure.

Still, he wasn’t going to open his mouth for a smart-ass remark, as Dean would say, when he knew the only thing he’d likely get for his trouble would be the broken nose he prevented Dean from giving to the manager instead.

The answer to the second part remained elusive until they got back to the bunker. It was midday when they’d arrived, and Sam was itching for a shower and a meal. He’d figured his brother would want the same, along with a nap after driving nonstop for most of the past twelve hours. Instead, Dean dropped his duffel bag on the table, and then swiftly turned to face Sam and Valhalla, arms crossed and stance confrontational.

“Okay, spill. How’d the mutt find us?” Dean said suspiciously.

Sam helf himself back from face-palming, alternatively letting his own bag slip to the floor. “Can’t it wait?” He asked, wearily. Dean didn’t relent. He did raise his eyebrows by another margin, if anything.

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam eventually said, dropping down to at least let Valhalla out of her leash. The collar followed when she scratched at it irritably. “She’s still a canine. Maybe she followed our scent-trail our something.” He sat back on his heels, Valhalla immediately beginning to chase her tail once liberated. Rather than watching the more entertaining sight like he wanted to and easily could’ve gotten lost doing so for as long as she kept it up, Sam looked back at his brother, thoroughly tired and not hiding it.

Dean sniffed, but softened his stance. His gaze went unreadable, though, as he stared at Valhalla. “Fine. Go get first shower, I’ll make us lunch.” He practically ordered. Sam rolled his eyes, but gratefully stood, clicking his tongue so Valhalla would start following him. He was going to let her play in his room as usual, well out of Dean’s way as well as away from the rest of the bunker, when Dean surprised him again.

“What’re you doing?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Going… to go… take a shower? Like you said?”

Dean shot him an unimpressed look before shaking his head. “Leave the mutt be,” he said gruffly. “I’m feeding her bottomless pit first so she doesn’t steal my food again later. For once, I’d like to have a peaceful meal without her staring off my appetite.”

Sam had to make a swift exit so Dean wouldn’t see his smile. He was still planning on keeping his nose intact, thanks.

At least Dean definitely didn’t see him when Sam heard his brother quietly commending Valhalla for saving them on his way to the shower.

oOo

Sam did end up being right – not that he was planning on gloating that matter to Dean.

Valhalla must’ve been an excellent tracker, if dubiously so. Dean was the one to test out the theory, and enlisted Sam’s help… to essentially play a game of hide-and-seek.

“Is this seriously–” Sam was brutally cut off to let out a grunt of pain when Dean’s elbow connected with his gut.

“Just shut up and hide!” Dean instructed. “What’s the point if she ends up finding us with all your nattering?” Dean hissed, then with a final heave, successfully shoved Sam all the way into the cleaning supplies closet. “Now, be quiet.” He gently yet effectively shut the door, silencing any further protests.

Huffing, Sam crossed his arms, but resigned himself to waiting.

He didn’t have to wait for long.

At first, once he’d calmed down, Sam couldn’t hear much except for the stifling silence. At one point, though, his eyes must’ve closed, already pretty useless in the dark. There was a sliver of light that came through from under the door from the brightly illuminated corridors, but Sam didn’t wait for his eyes to adjust. With only his seemingly emphasized breathing for company, he’d focused on that, until, after some point, his heartbeat also made itself known, blood rushing loud through his ears. His sense of hearing heightened, he’d immediately picked up the faint sound of scampering in the corridor outside.

Despite already standing as still as a statue, Sam found himself locking his muscles in place, hardly daring to move. His ears strained, even as the sound of paws padding along the floor crept closer.

A second passed, two, and he knew Valhalla was right outside the door.

She started whining,  _ loud,  _ something softly colling with the door – her forepaws, Sam figured, when it was soon accompanied by scratching.

Worried for the door’s paint job more than anything else – because, really, he was too shocked to rifle through his emotions, although there was definitely a hint of pride starting to bloom – Sam fumbled with the doorknob for an awkward moment – Dean had better not have locked him in here – before swiftly pulling it open.

He barely had the time to take in Valhalla landing back on her feet to avoid being hit by the opening door before she was ramming herself into Sam’s legs. He hissed at the impact, Valhalla whining louder in return at the sound. Had she gotten bigger?

For now though, her growth was pushed to the back of Sam’s mind as he crouched down to get on eye-level with the wolf.

“Hey, hey,” he crooned, running his hands through her fur. She quietened, but not by much, pushing herself closer to Sam while allowing him to pet her. “Good girl. Good Valhalla.” She let out a small yip, and if she were human, Sam would have said she was beaming. “Let’s go find my dork of a brother, yeah?”

At that point, Sam couldn’t even bring it himself to be surprised when she seemed to lighten up with understanding, and just let her lead him out of the closet.

Lingering a step or two behind, he watched as Valhalla intently sniffed the air, cocking her head too and clearly listening for his elusive brother. Once again, Sam found himself unintentionally stilling, trying to avoid distracting Valhalla from her hunt. He wasn’t entirely sure his contribution helped any, but she started to run down the corridor then, barking as if for Sam to follow her. And really, what else could Sam do but comply? Making sure to keep her fluffy tail in sight, Sam jogged along, confusion warring with being impressed as she led him through the many confusing hallways before coming to a stop in front of a door.

It was the door that led to the bunker’s garage, Sam realized, just as Valhalla rose onto her hindlegs, resting her forelegs on the heavy metal door. Peering at Sam over her shoulder, she let out a short whine.

Not thinking much about it, Sam leaned forward, and twisted the doorknob.

The moment the door slipped open far enough, Valhalla squeezed through the small gap, bolting through Sam’s legs in the process. He let the door swing open all the way, and –

There stood his brother, arms and legs crossed at the ankles, leaning against the Impala.

Sam gaped, forgetting all about how he was still standing at the doorway with his hand around the knob. Later, he was sure Dean would tease him about it, never one to let up on the opportunity to do so. For now, Sam just stared as Valhalla gave Dean the same greeting she’d given Sam when she found him.

Dean didn’t react too differently either, getting down on his knees to let Valhalla scramble up onto his lap. He did shoot Sam a satisfactory look though. “Told it would work.” He simply said.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Sure. Can we talk about how freaky that was, now?”

oOo

They didn’t, not really, but from then onwards, it didn’t take as much to convince Dean to let Valhalla accompany them on hunts. According to Dean, she’d proven herself reliable from a simple game of hide-and-seek, but that didn’t stop Dean from “training” her further, because, “I don’t care that she’s already a wolf and can take care of herself, Sammy. If she’s gonna be a hunter, then she damn well needs to fine tune her skills.”

Sam wasn’t going to admit it anytime soon if he could help himself, but he’d actually had a lot of fun with most of the stuff Dean had come up with. And sure, there were times when the strangeness of it all struck Sam. Dean was testing Valhalla’s stamina and endurance with some clever obstacle courses he’d whipped up by himself. And Sam himself was teaching Valhalla to identify cursed objects or hex bags by scent alone. 

It astounded Sam, how smart Valhalla continuously proved herself to be. Granted, suspicion and paranoia passed through Sam every now and then, but ultimately, how different was Valhalla’s training as opposed to the dogs in the police force or bomb squad? It helped them more, what with animals always having been more attuned to the supernatural in particular.

So, months passed, Sam and Dean continuing to hunt, Valhalla happily tagging along without fail, as a hunter-pup in training. The few civilians who didn’t seem to notice Valhalla was more wolf than German Shepherd and were otherwise charmed by her wagging tails and literal puppy eyes was a bonus.

Well. Up until Valhalla graduated from ‘hunter-pup-in-training’ to hunter (as certified by the Winchester Brothers) just the same as she graduated from puppy… to adult. And there was definitely no denying that Valhalla was a wolf, then.

Living with her as they did – or rather, her with them – meant that while they weren;t too focused on her growth to notice every minute difference, there was a point where the changes became glaringly obvious.

Such as right this moment, with Sam having woken up feeling like he was being suffocated. Only to soon find out, when a wet tongue licked his ear, that the heavy weight threatening to obliterate his ribs was, in fact, Valhalla sprawled out on his back.

Sam wheezed, trying to reach over his shoulder to push the wolf off. His breath was rapidly coming out in short bursts, and he started to become more and more desperate for a reprieve. “Valhalla, get –  _ Dean! _ ” He slumped. He may be ready to shoot an intruder only seconds after coming to consciousness, but this wasn’t something he’d ever had to prepare to deal with. So much for the usual adrenaline burst, but he could hear his brother’s hurried footfalls echoing through the bunker, so Sam just focused on doing the only thing he could, and not pass out.

“Wh–Valhalla! Come here!” Immediately, the weight disappeared as Valhalla bounded over to Dean. Coughing and otherwise struggling to push himself up to a seated position, Sam greedily took in a lungful of air.

“Jesus,” he rasped out, supporting himself up by keeping his hands pressed flat against the bed at his sides. “When did she get so fucking heavy?”

The two brothers looked down to the deceitfully lean wolf, seated on her haunches, tongue lolling and tail practically sweeping the floor as it wagged. Clearly aware of suddenly becoming the center of attention, Valhalla barked, once yet still managing to sound joyous.

Dean nodded to himself, looking decisive. “I’m gonna see if we have a weighing machine around here. Do us both a favor and get out of bed before Valhalla uses you as a body pillow again, yeah?” Sam glared at him, but the effect was somewhat ruined by his sweaty face and heaving chest.

Dean grinned, but Sam could still see the concern evident in his eyes that he could never completely hide from Sam.

He paused at the doorway before leaving. “Hey, did you happen to take any pictures of her from a few months ago? To compare.”

Sam paused. Apart from the ones he’d sneakily taken of her with Dean during his brother’s unguarded moments, thinking the moments was only being shared between himself and Valhalla… “I’ll look around.” Sam offered, voice still faint.

Dean lingered a second longer, the concern momentarily bleeding out further, before he shrugged, reining it all in. Turning, he disappeared down the hallway.

Sam was just starting to sink back into his thoughts and mattress, his body reminding him that he’d been rudely awoken, when a piercing whistle rang through the air. Right away, Valhalla was bolting up and rushing out of the room and to the source of the noise – the kitchen, Sam figured, where Dean was probably already waiting with a platter full of bacon to distract the wolf.

Alone again, Sam let himself freely flop back onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

Ultimately, with sleep evading him, Sam pushed himself out of bed, resolved to find at the very least a handful of pictures that would appease Dean.

If he ended up getting sidetracked by the sheer abundance of cute moments that featured his brother being a goody idiot, well. Dean didn’t have to know anything.

And no. This was definitely not going to turn out like the motel manager’s incident, because this time, it was coming from Sam.

oOo

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“No, really.  _ Wow _ .”

“Yep.”

“This…”

“Uh-huh.”

“How did we even miss this?” Sam shrugged, but Dean apparently wasn’t done yet. “This is insane! Are you seriously telling me we couldn’t even note all… of this,” Dean gestured vaguely. “And we call ourselves hunters?”

Sam winced. “Well, I mean–”

They were staring at a bunch of photographs Sam had printed and spread out on the War Room table. They were all of Valhalla, and therefore weren’t too many, but was enough to highlight what Sam and Dean had apparently missed.

Scattered at the top left of the pile on the table were pictures from when Valhalla was just a pup and new to their lives. One notable picture was actually a selfie Sam had taken of him cradling Valhalla in one arm easily. To the bottom right were more recent pictures of Valhalla, but they ignored it in favor of gawking at the real thing curiously peering at the photos from the other side of the table. When she noticed them none too subtly staring, she let out a loud bark and rolled onto her back, tongue flopping out along with some drool. Sam winced when the saliva met the floor, already aware of how Dean was going to give him hell until he cleaned it up.

“Can’t blame you for not noticing,” Dean abruptly said. “I mean, despite your geeky brain. Guess we finally found something cute enough to override all that smartness, huh?”

The shove Dean got was entirely warranted and not even that hard. And yet, five minutes later found the brothers wrestling on the floor, Dean having Sam in a headlock even he did his best to suffocate Dean in return by pressing back on Dean’s torso under him. It all came to a screeching halt when Valhalla decided to join the fray, and suddenly, both brothers were simultaneously and desperately tapping out.

oOo

“Get this,” Sam said as soon as he ducked into the kitchen and successfully found his brother. “‘Local high school focus of outrage after multiple students found mutilated.’ Sounds like our kinda thing?”

Dean set down the burger he’d previously had to his mouth with a sigh. Even Valhalla gave a wistful whimper, looking pitifully at Sam from behind a bowl filled with bacon strips. Sam frowned.

“Dean – stop feeding her your bacon! We get her her own kind for a reason!”

Dean rolled his eyes, wiping his hands with a napkin before balling it up “Hey, what happened to her being a growing girl and all that?”

“You can’t keep feeding her human food, Dean.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow. “You sure about that? ‘Cause something tells me she ain’t exactly gonna enjoy dog kibble either.”

Sam shook his head. “Whatever,” he huffed. “Case is in Oregon, by the way.” He said, bringing the conversation back on track.

Dean pursed his lips. “Mutilation?”

“Yep.”

“Demons.”

“Sounds like it.”

Dean nodded. “Get ready. We’ll leave in an hour. But first, if the princess permits, I’m gonna finish my damn burger.”

oOo

Almost four days later, the Winchesters and one wolf were stealthily breaking into the Lebanon High School. Sam was keeping watch at Dean’s back as he picked the lock, gun filled with bullets carved with devil’s traps at the ready, and Valhalla was currently digging a hole by the doors, seemingly for fun.

Dean cursed, fumbling with his lock pick. “What is she doing?” He hissed, frustrated. “She’s throwing me off my game here – Valhalla, quit it!”

Not wanting to make any further noises himself, Sam placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, silently urging him to get back to work. When Dean’s focus shifted, Sam crouched down, grabbing onto Valhalla instead to get her attention. Her paws paused, but Sam could tell she was going to start digging again if he didn’t give her a good distraction soon. Making sure Dean was still occupied with the finicky lock, Sam reached into his jacket, bringing out a small baggie filled with bacon shreds. Opening it as quietly as he could, he held out a few bits out to Valhalla. Her focus now completely on him once he’d brought out the bag, she was quick to gobble it up straight from Sam’s fingers, her sharp canine teeth dangerously grazing him as she did.

She’d just swallowed her mouthful when Dean made a muffled sound of triumph. Sam hurried to hide the baggie again as Dean looked over his shoulder. He gestured onwards with a tilt of his head, and Sam straightened. Pushing the heavy door open, Dean crept in first, Sam close behind with his gun securely held in both hands again.

Valhalla crept through the small gap they’d only allowed for to be enough for them to get in, and trotted ahead to take the lead, constantly sniffing the air for any signs of the sulfur they’d trained her to recognize. When she passed by Sam, he gave her a wink. Valhalla licked his muzzle.

With Valhalla now leading them, it was far too easy to find the demon hiding in the boiler room, surrounded by materials Sam was all too familiar with. He didn’t have the time to figure out what exactly the demon was trying to summon before Valhalla gave a warning bark. Sam fired his gun – not blindly, never blindly – where he’d only managed a glimpse of where he was sure he’d seen the demon moving. He’d clearly missed when the bullet struck metal instead, and the demon was flinging Sam through the air in retaliation.

For the fraction of a second that Sam was air-bourne, he inwardly sighed. He really hated getting thrown around like this on a regular basis.

Then he was slamming into the wall with a grunt, and he attempted in vain to push himself back up immediately. Hearing Dean fighting the demon, he figured he could be spared another moment to regain his bearings. When Dean slammed into the wall beside him and slumped down with a groan, he figured that was as good a declaration as any that his moment was cut short.

He was just pushing himself to his when a heart-wrenchingly familiar black shadow streaked past him with a snarl. Despite himself, Sam froze, heart beating furiously. Time slowed down to a crawl as the  _ hellhound  _ leapt to the demon’s side – no. It wasn’t a hellhound – time caught up like someone pressed fast-forward on a remote controlling their lives as Valhalla latched onto the demon’s necks with her fangs – teeth, her teeth, and tore away with a furious growl.

The demon screamed, clutched at the tattered flesh of its vessel, falling to the ground with a sickening sound. For whatever reason, it hadn’t smoked out yet, and it was as it crawled backwards, still on the floor, trying to get away from a snarling Valhalla with an expression of pure terror that Sam could shake himself. He looked around for his gun – not really daring to look away from the nonetheless incapacitated demon, not wanting to glance at Valhalla – when a shot rang out.

Sam turned around, not entirely surprised to find Dean lowering his gun, his brother still on the floor. He looked pale, far too pale for having only been thrown against a wall.

Dean didn’t look away from the demon now lying on the floor, the bullet at its forehead trapping it in place and keeping it quiet. “You see that?” He asked quietly, voice shaking.

Sam nodded, even as he – foolishly, stupidly – turned around again.

Standing in front of the roaring fire alit in the boiler which cast her in shadows, the flames her backdrop, blood dripping down Valhalla’s jaw. Torso expanding with each heavy breath, Valhalla growled, the very air vibrating.

The cold shiver hadn’t even made its way all the way down Sam’s back when Valhalla let out a howl.

Sam stopped breathing.

oOo

They didn’t go back to the bunker. Instead, they’d returned to their motel not even a mile away from the high school. The demon was trussed up in the trunk while Dean paid for another night, leaving Sam to wait by the car… and Valhalla to lounge in the backseat, tail wagging and panting with her tongue out, as if she didn’t still have blood drying on the fur around her mouth.

Sam waited with his back to the car, not even touching the cool metal. When he tucked his hands into his jacket’s pockets, the baggie of bacon shreds still in his jacket crinkled. Sam stilled, the only movement the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed.

When Dean came back out, he wordlessly headed for the trunk. Sam barely restrained the urge to yell. He was clearly left to deal with Valhalla, which wasn’t unusual for any other day.

This wasn’t any other day.

And Sam didn’t really have the whole, ‘ripped-to-shreds-by-a-hellhound’ on his side for him to ditch Valhalla on Dean. Even though Dean was clearly taking advantage of that. Sam really wished he could… but he  _ couldn’t  _ bring himself to find fault with Dean for this.

Still. Dean had long since disappeared inside their room with a tightly bound demon before Sam turned around. Taking a deep breath to brace himself, Sam pulled the door open.

With a bark that sounded cheerful to Sam’s currently anxiety-ridden ears, Valhalla clambered down and out of the car, rubbing herself against Sam’s side, and then gently pushing. Clearly eager to go in and join Dean, was what he would have easily assumed a day – hell, an hour ago, even. Now, Sam wasn’t entirely too sure about anything anymore.

That didn’t stop him from reluctantly following Valhalla to their room.

Smack in the center, Dean was just straightening up from tying the demon to one of the chairs. At the sight of the still-bloody demon, Valhalla started growling lowly.

“Down, girl.” Dean said sharply. Sam tossed him a surprised glance that he knew held more than a small hint of fear. Judging Dean’s wince, the command had been more habitual. What really caught both brothers off-guard, though, was Valhalla swiftly quietening. She laid on her belly right there in front of the door, ears pressed flat down against her head. For all that she did quit the frighteningly threatening noises, she refused to break eye-contact from their prisoner. Even to blink.

“Right.” Dean crossed his arms, Sam watching as his brother wiped away the traces of nerves and uncertainty from his face before turning back to the demon. Instantly, the cocky, self-assured swagger returned as Dean bent a little to look the demon in the eye. “You ready to do some talking by yourself, or am I gonna have to force it out of you?” Dean grinned, slow. “Because believe me when I tell you I wouldn’t mind the second option.”

The demon silently glared, pursing its lips into a thin line.

Dean straightened. “Alright. Option number two it is.”

oOo

Dean stood back, exhilaration clear in the energy thrumming through his body. He shook out his hand, knuckles bruised and bloody. At least the blood didn’t belong to him.

The actual owner of the blood dripping all over the carpeted room certainly wasn’t matching Dean’s enthusiasm. At least it was finally talking, though, and once it revealed what they needed to know, Dean was stabbing the demon with an angel blade, waiting patiently for it to stop playing a Halloween-themed light show before pulling back.

Sam and Dean stood, facing the dead demon. Valhalla laid behind them – or at least, she was until she suddenly appeared at Sam’s side, nuzzling his jacket’s pocket. Sam tried hard not to flinch, gritting his teeth and completely failing to maintain a poker face. Of course, Dean noticed.

“She’s just a wolf.” Dean said. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Sam.

“Right.” Sam returned weakly. The snout became more insistent, practically jabbing at Sam now.

Dean abruptly sighed, shoulders slumping. “Just get the damn bacon you thought you could hide from me.”

And that was that.

oOo

They’d ended up having to stop on the way back to the bunker for – a lot – more bags of various kinds and flavors of bacon.

Dean fought for his own stash, almost causing a scene in the middle of the Gas’n’Sip in the middle of the night, arguing with the wolf the cashier was too sleepy to tell them off for bringing inside. Sam decided, it really was just another usual day. 

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to an irl friend who i can't remember if they gave me a username to refer to when doing this for giving me ideas over Valhalla's name (she really was going to named Hreint and my friend's response was what I made Dean's) and looks and stuff.


End file.
